Your Good Fortune
by crypticnotions
Summary: Did Rick wait too long to declare his feelings for Michonne?
1. Chapter 1

AN: Don't own TWD or Richonne.

Summary: Rick thought he had more time to declare his feelings for Michonne. Is he too late?

* * *

Did you leave me to suffer  
Just to shuffle and breathe  
Did you pick through the litters  
And just settled on me?-

 **Your Good Fortune by Mavis Staples**

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He didn't lift his head as she spun the wooden chair around and plopped down in the seat parallel to him. Her arms rested against the table and she waited.

"Do you?" he asked. He downed more of the Scotch Whiskey Deanna had given them as a housewarming gift. The liquid rushed quickly down his throat and he knew it was making him testy. He could be an angry drunk, if he was not careful. It didn't help that he had the burning rage of discovering her having sex with his friend already racing through his veins. He couldn't get the look of her open pleasure out of his mind and it pitched his already troubled brain where it never should have went.

He felt, rather than heard, her soft sigh. Somehow, it vibrated across the spacious kitchen. It seemed to bounce off the shining marble countertops and white cabinets.

"I don't belong to you, Rick."

He looked up then. His bloodshot blue eyes looked into her expressive brown ones. Was that what she thought he thought of their relationship?

"I never reckoned you did," he answered.

She pressed her long, thin fingers against the high back of her chair.

"Then why are you like this?"

"Anyone could have seen. Anyone could have walked in. Daryl. Carol." He paused, "Carl," he drawled.

"No, they wouldn't have. Everyone else knocks. You're the only one who goes barging into rooms unannounced."

He knew she was right, but he wasn't ready to admit that so he changed directions. "You love him?"

She scoffed at that. "We're fucking, Rick. Not that it's any of your business. Were you in love with Jessie?"

He closed one hand into a fist and picked up the bottle with the other, sloshing the glass of Scotch with the movement before tipping it back to down more of the amber liquid.

"That's a low blow." He felt the alcoholic heat crawling up his cheeks. Jessie had been gone for two months now, her body swallowed into a walker herd that swept Alexandria. He was still haunted by her anguished cries, could still see her face etched with fear. He felt responsible for her. He felt guilt that he'd brought a curse onto her and her dead boys; that he'd brought a curse to the people of Alexandria.

Still, he contemplated Michonne's question. He'd contemplated it a lot recently. Jessie was sweet and kind and not cut out for the kind of world they now lived in. He'd been infatuated by that innocence and it had pulled him in. It was none of her fault that he'd taken a liking to that essence. Jessie was so much like Lori and he thought he saw her as a second chance to fix his mistakes.

"No, I didn't love her," he answered, but when he gazed at Michonne she looked mournful.

She bowed her head briefly, her dreadlocks shifted and spilled over her shoulders. A hint of sweet coconut oil drifted in the air between them. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was a low blow."

They didn't talk about Jessie. She was like Lori, Michonne's boyfriend and Andrea. They were all important, but tucked away, out of reach so the varnish wouldn't wear off; shiny things they could place on their personal pedestals without fear of them shattering.

"Are you with him?"

The alcohol had lowered his inhibitions and they could both hear the jealousy dripping from his tone.

"We're fucking," she repeated.

"Not always a long line from fucking to something else."

"I think you forget whom you're talking to," she said with a chuckle. Bitterness rang in her laugh.

He shook his head. "No, I know exactly who I'm talking to. You're not the stone cold warrior people think you are. Have a man show you some affection and it might turn your head." He placed the bottle on the table with a thud.

He knew he was being cruel. He used her vulnerability of wanting to open up to his advantage. It was a punk move he used to despise when pulled by a couple of bully co-workers he'd seen interrogate visitors traveling through King County. He was worse. She wasn't going to be sent home with a smirk and a pat on the back.

Her fingers gripped the table. Fire settled into her eyes and firmed up her mouth. "We've been friendly too long so I'm going to chalk your new sterling personality skills up to that bottle you just consumed." She stood up fast and fluid, grace evident in the way she stepped from the chair. He always admired her ability to silently glide away from difficult situations.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd gone too far. They would debate, stare hard at each other and sometimes yell, but when she distanced herself he knew he was in trouble. If she left now, she might not come back to him. Physically, she would return. She would do anything for Carl and Judith, even if that meant putting up with him. But emotionally she would check out and he needed her. He had leaned on her to get through Jessie's death and Carl's shooting and surgery and the clusterfuck of being the de facto leader to a group of people he never signed up to lead. She was his emotional rock, his solid foundation through all the storms he weathered now. He knew that he was her confidant. They were a give and take union, but lately he'd taken too much from her and given nothing in return.

"I wish it was me," he said. His voice deepened with the admission. He needed to put everything out there. He needed to place his long held vulnerability in plain view for her to see.

She froze with her back to him. He could see the muscles on her upper arms flex as she listened to him.

"I wish I was the one in your bed," he declared, looking her straight in her eyes when she faced him.

She didn't flinch or cower. Instead, her voice lowered to that gentle tone it took on when she was about to get very serious. "It could have been you."

The pain from her words hit him in his gut. He subconsciously pressed a hand against his forehead. He was almost afraid his fingers would come back stained with his blood, as if she'd taken her katana to his face.

He was the most oblivious man alive. Instead of looking at the woman who he knew was there for him, who he already craved, he'd made a play for someone else's wife out of nostalgia.

She hesitated. Her concerned eyes watched his emotional display before turning around and walking away.

* * *

A/N: This is my first Richonne fic. Please hang in there. There's at least one more chapter. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews. You made my intro into the Richonne fanfic writing fandom so spectacular. I appreciate it more than you know.

* * *

I can tell you of sorrow  
Of losing, of pain  
I can cry through the levee  
If it'd washed you away-

 **Your Good Fortune by Mavis Staples**

* * *

Michonne had taken Carl's shooting hard. She had watched it take place in slow motion. She was behind one step too many to keep it from happening. The second that shot was fired, she had thrust her sword deep into Ron's heart and not even watched the boy take his final tumble to the ground before jamming her blade through his still living skull.

She'd fallen to her knees clutching Carl's head. There was so much blood. Pain radiated so deeply in her soul that she felt that numb, achy feeling of knocking one's funny bone throughout her entire body.

She was glad they weren't out _there_ when it happened. They'd lost Tyreese because of lack of medical assistance. Here, at least, a qualified doctor existed.

She sat in shock for days, staying by Rick's side and soothing Judith while Rick cried. Before Carl's prognosis came, she'd mourned. She failed Carl. She failed Rick. And she failed herself.

Half of her journey through this end of the world adventure had been about blaming herself for not being there for Andre. If only she hadn't went on that run. If only she hadn't left the camp. If only she'd taken Andre with her. If only she'd been a better mother somehow. She always assumed she could have stopped him from getting bitten, from turning into one of those things. But the situation with Carl made her question that. It made her question her belief in herself. If she couldn't save Carl from his heartache when she was standing right there then how could she have saved her little boy in the rush of the beginning throes of this affliction? It made her question her anger at Mike.

During the worst of the uncertainty of Carl's survival, she'd stayed up at night, afraid to be haunted in nightmares by the demon eyes of her precious boy. Those eyes held accusations for him and Carl. Truth was, she loved Carl like a son. She had killed for him and she would die to ensure he stayed safe.

She thought about talking to Rick, about sharing the most difficult of her secrets with him, but the man's self-loathing could put hers to shame. His hands stayed clasped in silent prayer as if he could turn back the hands of time with one chat to the god he'd abandoned.

He was also hung up on Jessie and Michonne knew that there was never any way she could compete with a dead woman. When people died, all their foibles got erased. Even before this plague on humanity, people lionized the dead, boosting them to saint levels even when they were evil.

She eventually started to feel the strain of being there for Rick with no reciprocation. So much of their friendship had been a balancing act. They were perfect parrying partners who could take on the world.

What she didn't expect was Morgan. The man she'd remained skeptical of had shown up on the periphery of her pain. He'd shared about his wife and son. She'd opened up about Mike and Andre. His tenderness and internal strength was attractive and when she saw his understanding morph into understanding and lust, she let herself get carried away into his universe. He was a gentle, deadly man and she knew they were alike in that way.

They were silent about their budding relationship. If there was anyone who valued discretion more than she did it was Morgan. She wasn't sure they would have ever been caught if it hadn't been for Rick's ability to pop into her life (and room) without warning. She wasn't ashamed of what she had with Morgan. Neither of them was under the delusion that this was something it wasn't. They were fucking and that was the extent of it. But it was fun and when she was in his arms she felt cherished.

"You okay?"

She sat up. Her fingers gripped the side of the bed and she kept her bare back to Morgan.

She nodded. Her dreadlocks flowed freely across her shoulders.

His calloused fingers skimmed across the smooth expanse of her back. Despite her numerous wounds since this all began, she still had a lot of unblemished, silky skin and Morgan couldn't get enough of touching it. She basked in how often he connected with her on a physical level. She missed affection, had closed herself off to touching after Mike's death. It seemed that everyone else who touched her wanted something from her that she didn't want to give. The only other exception being Rick after their initial bad meeting.

She didn't want to think about Rick though.

"This have to do with Rick?" Morgan asked.

Think of the devil and he would surely show up somehow. She tensed at Morgan's words. They both knew Rick had everything to do with her mood. It's why she was staying longer at his new house instead of the one she shared with Rick, Carl and Judith. She'd shown up with her sword and a small bag to crash a few days. That was forty-eight hours ago.

"I know there's something between you two." He carried on in her silence.

"Not what you think." She couldn't offer him much assurance. She still wasn't sure what was going on between her and Rick anymore.

Morgan snorted. "Rick," he began, "Rick is possessive. It usually plays right. If he gets attached then he's loyal to death. He tried to power play me into coming back to the prison with him and we haven't spent the time you two have together."

This was not shit she wanted to deal with right now. She didn't want to talk to Morgan about Rick.

Michonne bent over and reached for her panties, making his hand fall away in the process.

"If this is something you want to pursue, I understand." Despite Morgan's newfound peace, Michonne could hear the hesitation and hurt in his voice.

She shimmied into her tight pants and tugged on her burgundy tank top. She eased her feet into her studded boots, and grabbed her katana and bag. She leaned back over the bed to give him a peck on the lips. "I'll see you during watch." This week they were assigned to walk the wall together. Rebuilding was still ongoing and would not likely finish for another couple of months.

There would be no life altering decisions in the twilight of this morning.

She wasn't surprised to see Rick had waited up for her. However, she didn't expect him to be propped up in a chair he'd dragged into her room. She wondered if he'd been here throughout the time she'd been gone. _Rick is possessive_ echoed in her head. What an understatement.

"Thought we each had our own rooms here," she remarked. She went about tossing her bag on the lone, squat dresser in the corner before toeing off her boots.

He was bleary eyed from his shift instead of alcohol this time, but he followed her movements closely.

"Didn't think you'd mind, seeing as how you've all but moved out."

His tone said he had things he wanted to say. His tone said he was aiming for a fight.

"I've got shift in several hours."

"Yeah," he said, but he didn't move. If anything, he gave off the appearance of digging in. His hands clutched the ornate wooden armrests and his bare feet pressed into the plush carpet.

She wasn't going to beg him to leave and she didn't have time for this so she turned her back to him to put her hair up for sleep. There'd been a nice satin scarf she'd found in a drawer at Maggie and Glenn's house to wrap her hair in. She wouldn't have minded swapping clothes, but she was fine with ignoring that at the time. It was time to change the linens anyway so it wouldn't hurt.

She settled into her bed with her back to Rick. She punched her pillow. It seemed her relationships were changing from being faced head on to being passive moments she reacted to. She was sure there was some interesting symbolism and psychology surrounding this turn of events.

Her eyes remained open briefly. Had this been before The End, she'd have found it impossible to sleep through Rick's presence, but she'd slept upright next to two jawless walkers biting at thin air, had slept in the rain, in a barn that stunk of pig shit, a church with blood stains marring the pew next to her head and a prison where every echo could be an undead person dragging itself up from the tombs.

She was nearly asleep when he spoke.

"I don't want you to go. I don't want to lose you to him." Fear tinged his voice and it unsettled her more than if he'd started the fight he wanted, more than if he declared there was another deadly herd of walkers shambling their way to Alexandria.

Morgan and Rick were going through tough times with each other, but she never knew schism ran this deeply.

Michonne rolled over and looked at Rick; really looked at him. He'd allowed the scruff to overgrow his face again. Bags lined his eyes. He'd clearly lost weight during Carl's vigil and never found it again. His jaw remained clenched so tightly she wondered if he was about to ground his teeth into dust. He was, overall, a tense ball of exhausted energy.

His life was of lost. His best friend, his wife, his child's innocence, and then the many people he'd been chosen to lead. But she had her losses too and just when she was ready to open up about them he'd shut himself off to her. It stung because she'd wanted this place. He'd come at her insistence. She just didn't know he would slip from her grasp in the process.

Still, she would not add to his burdens.

"You won't lose me, Rick." Her voice softened. She cared about this wounded man.

"Michonne, when you're with him you're not with me."

Her eyes narrowed and anger swept in swiftly and settled in her gut like a brick. "Like you were with Jessie and not me?"

"Yes, exactly like I was with Jessie" he admitted with a wince. "That's how I know you're going. I did you like this and I'm sorry. I can't repay you for what you've done for me, for Carl, for Judith. I can't make right what I got wrong, for what I failed to appreciate right in front of my eyes."

"I never asked you for anything you didn't want to give." She thought they were in this together.

"No." He stood from the chair and padded across the floor closer to her bed. "You never did. But I'm not like you." He tilted his head to the side and leaned downward in his very Rick Grimes' way to peer down at her as he drifted a hand through his unruly curls. "I'm not like the man I used to be. I'm selfish now. I want all of you. Everything. And I can't share. I _won't_ share. It's either him or me."

She sat up in alarm, her eyes slightly widened in surprise. Rick delivered ultimatums to people all the time, but he hadn't done so to her since they first met. And never one like this.

 _Rick is possessive._

His blue eyes roamed her body slowly, igniting a fire that burned her down to her bones. His lust shined forth and she almost gasped at the rawness she could see in their depths. His hand skimmed the comforter next to her feet, his fingers so close to her toes she could feel the ghost of them on her flesh, making her skin prickle with goose bumps without him ever touching her.

He walked to the door and placed his left hand on the knob. He pointed his right index finger at his chest, his head still cocked sideways. "Him or me."

His words startled her so much she almost missed the absence of the gleaming ring that used to sit on his left hand.

* * *

A/N: So Rick's issued an ultimatum. Michonne has a lot to think about. Also, we'll likely see a little bit of backstory from Rick next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews. I don't maintain access to a computer much so I think individually contacting everyone is going to be impossible for me right now, but thank you so much. I appreciate each review a lot. A lot a lot.

* * *

I could give you one reason  
Two reasons or three  
I can tell you 'bout heartache  
No leanness and grieve -

 **Your Good Fortune by Mavis Staples**

* * *

He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up in the most royal of ways possible. He knew he'd made a mistake the second he closed her door.

As if it wasn't obnoxious enough to be issuing ultimatums when he'd given her nothing in return in the last several months, he was making her choose between him and one of his best friends, one of her best friends. It was ridiculous to ask an already trust fragile person to let go of the tenuous hold she held on her belief in people. Especially when he wasn't exactly sure what Morgan had to offer her.

He pushed his fingers against his bridge again, trying to stymie the headache blooming from his shoulders to his neck to the back of his brain.

He knew forcing her hand had so many complications. If she chose him would it be tinged with resentment? If she chose Morgan could he live without her? Could he swallow his pride and ask her to still be in his life?

Oh, she would never fully leave. She loved and adored Judith and Carl. She would be there for them no matter what. She'd always be there, like an ex wife that quietly collected the children on the weekend with a weak wave and smile as she scurried away. Except, she would never truly be like Lori. They'd never gotten their chance at husband and wife in this world. She'd never even be like Jessie, a woman who was only coming into her own when her life ended.

Michonne didn't need him and that scared him. He'd been so used to being the completing puzzle for people who were fractured that he didn't know how to coexist romantically with someone who would be an equal partner, but Michonne made him think he was ready for that kind of relationship.

He forced himself to descend the stairs. The intense jealousy that had shot through his being earlier dulled with each movement toward the kitchen. He'd made a rash decision to blurt out pure bullshit because he'd seen the casual way she walked in, the way her body had remained unflappable coming from another man's house, from another man's bed, smelling of sweat and sex.

Of all the feelings he'd been forced to face in this end of the world, abandonment and loneliness were the ones he was most ill equipped to handle. He'd grown used to the rage and fear of death that shadowed his every step. But losing the woman he'd grown to trust and care about while she walked the Earth was too much.

Michonne wasn't the tough shell she'd been when he met her. She showered him with concern. She didn't sit back when things got tough, but marched to the front lines, her sword drawn and locs flowing as she waged into battle by his side.

He had taken her for granted. He'd just assumed his life of being selfish with her would never change. He'd foolishly assumed he could ignore the simmering tension between them and go for someone that felt like a second chance at his old life and it wouldn't impact their relationship. He foolishly thought he could ignore her needs as an equal partner and gorgeous woman and expect no one else to scoop in to offer her the things she needed to be fulfilled in this new life.

He heard the whispers, "That's Rick's woman" and strutted with swagger, knowing no one would challenge his unspoken claim. He'd told Michonne that he didn't own her. He told her that he'd never thought of her as his property. He lied. She wasn't his like a gun or his badge. She wasn't an object and he meant that, but he'd come to realize she was his like a vital organ. She was a loved one, a brilliant confidant and trusted strategist that couldn't be replaced like an old pair jeans or favorite boots. She was as precious as Judith or Carl to his life. And he was just realizing the depth of that.

Morgan forced his hand. Morgan was on a peace journey, but he was about full throttle living these days. The fact that he hated taking life meant he rushed into living with his head up and hands out. With no ring or spoken claim, he wasn't intimidated by Rick's ever presence in Michonne's periphery.

Rick trudged to the counter and pulled out a Coke from the plastic ring binding the remaining cans from their last run. He still had some whiskey left, but figured he'd made enough messes for the night. The soda still burned his throat going down. A strong tingling in his nose alerted him to how his senses had gone from consuming pop all the time to getting the rare treat.

He leaned against the counter with his thoughts. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight. Too many emotions warred over his brain and the headache he tried to ward off was pounding against his temple.

* * *

She didn't avoid him. She didn't need to do that. They'd changed schedules for the week to accommodate shifts for training, guarding and building. His shift was often in the evenings and Michonne was gone before he ever cracked an eyelid to the streaming morning light filtering through his blinds, if she spent the night at their home at all. He now ran his suggestions through Maggie, Sasha and Carol. Everyone was too busy rebuilding the community to call him out on the strain permeating his former closest relationship. Although, over the last two days, he'd seen a look on Carol's face as she planted seeds and dispersed water during his watch that told him she was itching to delve into his not-so private dilemma. He figured she'd been talking to Morgan.

Despite the intense fight they'd had after the Wolves came to Alexandria and hacked their neighbors and attacked him, Morgan and Carol had grown close. Rick had often found them tucked in corners, sipping teas, their heads leaning close as they plotted together. Rick had naively thought that Daryl had missed his chance at setting down roots with her. How wrong he was.

Still, the nights proved easy. They were predictable. He finished his shift, spoke with Deanna and Spencer on any needed changes and trekked home to dinner and time alone with his kids. He was often so busy the loneliness seeping into his life was masked through his routine.

The mornings, however, were proving to be hell. He missed Michonne. And he didn't just miss her presence, but he missed what could be between them. Her bold statement announcing that he'd maybe lost his chance sparked something in him he'd tried tamping down since he met her at the prison. Out on the road he forced himself to put her in a "strictly friend" box, afraid that anything else would make the cramped nights bundled against each other awkward and uncomfortable. But now, he woke hot and hard from hazy dreams of her riding him with nothing on but her headband and a smirk planted on her face. He visualized her full lips engulfing his cock, and he jacked off more than he had since he'd been a teenager. He'd stand in the shower, a stream of lukewarm water and cum dripping down the drain as he leaned his head against the foggy glass. No one had made him cum as hard in ages. Not even the sweet smile of Jessie's could bring the heat that just the thought of Michonne's being gave him.

 _"_ _Him or me," he'd hear as the water flashed to cold._ And he would groan and rub the skin above where his ring used to set.

If only he'd been more open. If only he had let Michonne in.

But he had been afraid. When Carl almost died for the second time, Rick had pushed people away. The closer the person, the more he pushed. Michonne had been his closest friend and the easiest one to take out his frustration on. She didn't press him until irritation like Carol, and she didn't defy him like Daryl. She tried to stick with him, but he'd slowly said less and less, afraid his guilt and anger and fear would bleed onto her and stain her with the black tar of his life. He was a curse and she didn't need any more troubles in her life. And then Carl had woken up and Rick's every waking moment was awash with making his boy's life comfortable. Michonne stepped up and helped, but she no longer attempted to get Rick to open up. He didn't know it was because she'd turned to someone else. He didn't know it was because she'd turned to Morgan.

He should have opened up to her. He knew she wouldn't let him drown. She would keep him above water. They would buoy each other through any storm. Instead of trusting her to handle her share of the burden while he lifted some of hers, he'd disappeared on her, left her treading water in an ocean of fear and hurt. He'd left her to process how she felt about Carl while he turned into himself. It was almost cruel. Rick knew Michonne loved Carl like he was her own and leaving her to sort through what she felt was like taking her back emotionally to that prison gate, her face full of anguish as her bloody fingers grasped onto to something that wouldn't leave her vulnerable to the world.

This whole situation was his fault and he'd gone and made it worse with his demand.

* * *

He stood at the door, one hand rested on the wooden frame of the opening while the other dangled to his side. He watched as she stuffed a few tank tops and an extra pair of skin-tight jeans into a small duffle bag perched on her bed.

"So you were just going to leave? No notice? No nothing?"

With the change in schedules, they hadn't had time to talk, but he didn't think she would take off before they had hashed some things out. Well, they wouldn't have in the past, when Rick was sure of his footing and where he stood with her. Apparently, too many things had changed.

She didn't look up at him, but continued to jam her few essentials into the rugged pack.

"Carl," his voice came out strangled. What would his boy say? What had he done to his son? So many bad things had happened to him and Carl didn't deserve to have any more pain in this world. Michonne was an anchor in Carl's life, a person who held onto him tight when death tried to yank him away.

"Carl knows." She looked up then. "We had a talk, and he knows I'm not leaving him or Judith. We'll continue being friends and hanging out. Nothing has changed for us." He heard the unspoken implications of, _"But they have changed between you and me."_

He wanted to feel relief, but he couldn't. "But you won't be here," he said.

She nodded and zipped up her bag. She didn't have many things. None of them did. They'd all been living on the outside too long to start acquiring new knickknacks just for the pure joy of owning things. They knew something or someone could come by and they'd be out again just like they were in the prison. They'd fight, they'd do what they could to hold on to things in Alexandria, but they were realistic about life, even more so after Carl's accident and recovery.

"But I won't be here." She repeated his words firmly and with a determination he'd not seen since she'd convinced the group to give Aaron's proposal to check out Alexandria a chance.

He scratched the stubble of his beard. "Look, when I said him or me, I didn't mean you needed to move out, if you chose him, Michonne."

"Didn't you? Didn't you, Rick? Because that's exactly what it sounded like. I'm not some naïve girl from this town. I know you."

She hefted the bag over her shoulder and took a look around the room. He could tell she would miss it by the look that drifted over her face. Even though the room was lightly furnished, there was something about the spaciousness of it. It had the allure of nature with a view of the sunrise and sunset painting its walls every morning and evening.

"I didn't mean it." He felt very foolish. His heart beat faster and a fear he hadn't prepared himself for surged through his body. She was leaving. She was really leaving him.

She stepped closer to him. "You said what you said."

"So," he began. He hated to ask it, but he needed to know. "Are you choosing him?"

She shook her head at him and her voice became soft and melancholy. "No, Rick, I'm not choosing him. I'm choosing me now. I haven't done enough of that lately."

He edged nearer to her and brushed his hands across her shoulders. "Is there still a chance for us, Michonne? In the future?"

She looked away briefly, but soon found his eyes again. "I don't know. What I have with Morgan is…something."

"Is it enough?" he pressed. He had to know if he had any shot whatsoever.

She shrugged. "It may be."

"But it might not be either."

"No, maybe it's not. I'll make the change then. It won't be a jealous ultimatum that makes me choose."

"No," he agreed. He let the regret seep into his voice. She deserved so much more than he'd given her lately. His hands drifted up her neck and cupped her face. Her skin was soft and smooth and his thumbs caressed her cheeks. He waited to see if she'd push him away. When she didn't, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

He stood still with his eyes closed as she gave his fingers a final squeeze, lifted them from her body, and walked out of the door of the house they'd shared.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for sticking with me. The next chapter will have some much needed action in it.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: It's been forever since I posted. I can only say I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a streamlined story and now, well, it's not. But I do know where it is going to it's not just floating out on the sea.

* * *

I can tell you a story

Tell it simple and plain

Tell you life is a candle

It flickers and I'm a flame-

 **Your Good Fortune by Mavis Staples**

* * *

"I was supposed to go to the planetarium the day my dad got shot."

Michonne took a bite of the oat bar that Denise packed. It was no peanut butter protein snack and it was ugly; it was a hunk of food melded together that looked like actual shit. But it tasted okay and somehow Denise had infused it with something that assuaged Michonne's sweet tooth.

Michonne watched Carl sit back from the red telescope he had gazed into. His uninjured eye glanced at her as he rolled the leather chair away from the window.

She remained silent to let his thoughts catch up with him. Carl was a bright child who had been through so much. At times, in certain angles and in certain lights, he reminded her of Andre. No, they didn't look alike, but there was a similar mischievous air to him that pricked her heart. Carl wasn't her boy, but she couldn't help but love him more as the days passed. Sometimes her brain carried her down the path she didn't want to venture and gave her glimpses of an older Andre and in those moments, she found herself thinking those glimpses might be a lot like Carl: fierce, funny, independent with a determined streak that needed a firm hand.

"Mom came and got me. At first I was mad when the principal called me into the office. Then I thought it was the worst day of my life." Carl huffed. "Could you believe that?"

"I can," she answered. She stood from her spot and bent over the telescope to look at the twinkling stars. She hadn't been stargazing in years. Still, she gently swung the metal sphere to each side to eye more of the sky.

Plastic wrap crinkled in the lull and she knew Carl was taking his own bite of Denise's concoction.

"It's miserable without you." He muffled the words because of the food jammed into his mouth.

She said nothing again.

"He's miserable without you."

She turned around then, her gloved hands braced behind her against the wood. She tilted her head. Her dreads shifted to the side. Her eyes widened a little at him.

He sighed. "I know. I know. It's not my business."

She stifled her own sigh and scanned the room they were in. Carl had come to her after he'd had a nasty fight with Rick. She'd heard from Maggie that there had been yelling.

"I need to get out of here," Carl had said in a voice so angry that it startled Michonne. She rarely saw him like that these days and especially not after he'd lost his eye. There was a weight, a burden in his step that worried her so she'd agreed to go on an adventure with him.

And now they were holed up in a house just a couple of miles from the safe zone. After the Wolves had come, they'd taken a giant brick house and Morganfied it, equipped it with axe booby traps and carved out spaces in the ground that would keep it walker and people free. It turned into a great place to scope out people coming and going into the vicinity and Daryl used it to bring squirrels and deer to skin and chop up before carting them back to Alexandria. The faint smell of rotted meat and old blood soaked through the building. Had it been _in the before_ , Michonne would have wretched, but they'd all gotten used to the unforgiveable smell of dead flesh and the familiar metallic tang that covered everything.

Michonne plopped down on the bed behind them. She smoothed a hand across the blue comforter decorated in baseballs and bats. A child's room. There were still hand painted pictures on the wall and an old television in the corner. She wondered about the people who had been here. There were no corpses when they swept the house, no walkers dragging through rooms they'd lived through as humans. Whatever happened to the people who were here, they'd left their house in pristine condition, probably grabbing the barest of necessities.

"It's not that it's not your business, but," she trailed off. She couldn't look at him in the face for a moment.

"I get it. It's complicated."

Her eyes zoomed to his. She smiled. "Carl…"

"It is and it probably has something to do with my dad being an idiot, but what else is new?"

Michonne sighed and yanked on the arm of his rolling chair so they would be closer. She leaned into him and ran a hand against his long locks. "We've all made some mistakes here. We're human. Sometimes we do that."

Carl rolled his eye at her. "I'm a kid. I get that too. But you didn't move out because you made a mistake. I know it was dad. And I'm not even angry about his mistake because you're right he's human, but he's being a total asshole about everything since you left. That's not a mistake. That's a pattern."

Michonne laughed then. "You are too smart for your own good, but be kind to him, okay?"

Michonne almost frowned at that. Even now, when she had her own issues with Rick, she found herself fighting for him, defending him. But she also knew that anger made one stupid and no one had any time for stupidity. That's what got you killed.

He moved out of her embrace and rolled his chair across the room to a bookshelf.

"We should take some of these books to Judy. We need to make sure she's cultured."

Michonne didn't question his subject change. She just nodded her approval.

"That's a good idea."

"Yeah." Carl drank some of the water in his canteen. "Thanks for coming, Michonne."

"You knew I would," she remarked.

He shrugged and turned back to the shelf, his fingers resting against the dusty titles as he shifted the books while trying to decide which ones to remove. "I still appreciate it."

His voice became small and Michonne could hear the little boy echoed in it instead of the young man he was rapidly becoming. Her throat grew thick with unshed tears.

"Anytime," she whispered, unable to catch all the traces of emotion from emerging in her tone.

* * *

They were up early. Adventures were fun, but they lived in a world where safety often came in numbers. Also, Michonne hadn't realized just how much she had come to consider Alexandria home. The ache in her bones that used to send her outside of the prison gates for weeks on end was the same ache driving her back to the walls of their shelter.

Michonne looked over at Carl and struggled to keep the grin off her face. He had decided on nearly every book in that little library and was now hunched under the weight of his backpack. He shifted and shrugged to maintain his composure.

"Maybe you could have saved some for next time." Her voice was playful and light. She knew not to offer him assistance. Carl was touchy about getting help these days.

"Maybe. But who knows how fast Judy is going to go through these."

Michonne scuffed a studded boot across a rock in their path. She snorted at that. "Judy or you?"

"Hey, these are kids' books," Carl exclaimed. He turned to face her and pulled hair from his face.

"The classics are the classics," Michonne argued. But she wouldn't be too hard on him. They hadn't come across any new comic books in awhile. Daryl had mentioned a store a few miles out, but it wasn't a risk any of them wanted to take just to catch up on the last issues penned before the apocalypse. Michonne wondered if any of the artists and writers had lives to tell the story of this world.

"You should consider writing Judy some stories."

Carl stopped and his lack of movement halted hers. It was clear he'd never thought of that idea. "Really? I'm not a writer or anything."

Michonne shrugged. "Don't think you need to be in this world. You tell good stories and I'm sure Judy would appreciate them."

They started moving again and they drifted further into the woods, coming closer to their destination. Michonne kept a watchful eye as they ducked under tree limbs and avoided the thick mud. One thing she wasn't a fan of was the red Virginia mud that built from a heavy downpour. It left ugly red stains. And if one wasn't careful, they found themselves mired ankle deep in it.

Their journey was pleasant until there was distinct rustling in the distance coming their way.

Michonne stopped in place and held an arm out in front of Carl, a protective stance she'd never outgrown from attempting to shield Andre. Her brow wrinkled and she held a finger to her lips to make sure Carl didn't say anything. He nodded.

The rustling was coming faster. A whooshing sound followed.

Michonne reached for her sword and Carl grabbed his gun.

Whoever or whatever was headed straight for them. They knew it was better to meet it head on instead of trying to hide. It was nearly impossible to sneak through the recently falling leaves that floated downward in preparation for autumn.

Michonne's body tensed and she raised the sword. It could be nothing. It could be a wayward fawn crashing through to get to its mother.

A body whipped under a tree and came into view. It was not a fawn. She had two seconds to see it. She knew immediately what she should do. Her legs dropped further into a lunge and she swung, her motion lopping off the head attached to the man making a wild dash around the trees.

Carl raised his gun. He took out a woman coming from the same direction.

Michonne glided left and waited a few more seconds before slashing straight into a chest. Blood gushed out with the wound and she turned in balletic grace to stab the man through the brain.

They listened for more noise, but there was none.

Michonne glanced over to Carl and they both were heaving. Their win in the woods was not the cause for their catching breaths. The people, the Wolves, were running to them from the direction of Alexandria.

They both took off as fast as they could. Carl still labored under his heavy pack, but she imagined the same adrenaline and fear pushed him forward as it did her and he kept up with Michonne as they expertly dodged hanging tree limbs, pushed over fallen logs, leaped over mud pits all while checking for potential walkers in their way.

Sweat poured down from Michonne's scalp and into her headband. Alexandria could not fall.

The door to the gate was open and Carl and Michonne rushed to enter. Michonne didn't know who was on duty, but she and Carl took time to yank the door shut. It wouldn't do to have any more threats enter while whatever was being taken care of inside.

A gunshot rang out.

It was close to Rick's house.

They raced toward the sound.

Once they rounded the corner, Michonne pulled up short. There was a crowd. There was a completely silent crowd.

She shoved her way through the congregation.

There were one, two, five Wolves on the ground. Next to them was a walker she was sure used to be Spencer. And next to Spencer was the freshly deceased body of Deanna out in the street. Morgan was knocked out beside them. His chest was rising and falling, but a red gash marred his forehead.

Michonne gasped.

"Rick?" she called.

He turned around. His hair was slick with sweat and the lower half of his jaw was caked with fresh blood. His hands were trembling yet sure as he aimed the gun toward the people gathered.

"What?" he snarled, his head tilted in the unusual way that was so him. His eyes were dark and tumultuous.

This was vicious Rick. This was "do not fuck with me" Rick, and Michonne had no idea what the hell had happened to unleash this him.

* * *

I wanted some Carchonne. I love their friend/parental-like bond. Also, there's a reason Rick is standing in the street acting like ooc season 5 Rick and it's not because he's ooc season 5 Rick lol. He's more Hilltop not putting up with shit Rick and I hope that comes through. I had hoped for more action, but I realized this is kind of a calmer story by its nature.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. It's really kept this story in the forefront of my mind, if not always the forefront of the computer. I appreciate them all.

* * *

So If I give you one reason

For me to say what I'm saying

I'd say you are the answer

To my question every day-

 **Your Good Fortune by Mavis Staples**

* * *

Rick didn't believe in symbolism. He never thought the green grass in literature was a metaphor for anything important. He didn't believe the outbreak was an allegory for human consumption like Shane had mentioned in one of their quiet moments. Rick didn't even think that the morning coffee he'd spilled on his uniform causing him to be late for work the day he was shot was a morbid nod to how badly things would later go.

But, as he dipped his hands into the warm, soapy water to scrub the blood from his coat, he felt that his stinging, scraped knuckles were a good metaphor for just how badly life had been going for him the past few weeks.

He bent his rapidly stiffening fingers under the cooling liquid and hissed. They were going to hurt until they healed. He'd had a fight ten years ago and banged his knuckles good and they had given him a world of trouble until the scabs fell off.

Blood squished from the fabric and stained the water a deep crimson and the smell of copper wafted in the air. Rick sighed. He'd preferred to run this through the wash, but laundry day was strictly observed to preserve water. Each family got one day out of the week to wash two loads and his, the kids and Michonne's time wasn't for another three days. For now, a quick scrub and hang dry would have to suffice until Thursday.

His mind started running back to the events of the day when he sensed Michonne behind him. He actually felt her before he heard her. They were attuned that way. He was positive she could be one hundred miles away and his radar, the internal circuit that apprised him of her well being, would still signal to him any changes. At first this awareness had scared him. He'd never felt that kind of subtle tug in his life the way he had with her. He had something similar with Lori and his children, but it had never been on the exact frequency he shared with Michonne. His connection with Michonne was unique and that wavelength was so strong that it left him on edge.

"I had to," he said. He didn't turn around. He needed to speak before she did, needed to clear himself of any accusations. He couldn't take any more cracks in their already crumbling foundation.

"I know."'

He did turn at that.

She stood there with her hand clutching the strap of her katana as she gazed at him. Her perceptive eyes were their usual beautiful rich brown that he always found captivating even as they read through any of his bullshit.

"Carol told me."

He nodded and reached for the towel hanging on the rail next to the metal basin he rinsed his coat in. He was glad the sun had swept in and the cold had dissipated. There was even the smell of earth and blooming flowers that signaled the weather was changing from rainy season to sunshine. His knuckles only ached a touch as he rubbed the soft fabric across them.

Carol could be a busy body, but she became very helpful in dire situations and he felt this was a dire situation. He wasn't sure he could convince Carl much less Michonne that he hadn't flashed back to the version of him that had ranted in the streets before Pete's death, before Jessie's death. He knew that his bloody mouth and wide-eyed look in the middle of a crowded street had not made the best impression on them.

It had been a whirlwind of shit that had come down on the group while Carl and Michonne were gone.

He always knew Spencer was a little shit, but he'd humored him because Rick knew how much it hurt to lose family and Deanna had always been there to rein him in. Rick didn't know just how much Spencer despised him, even at the cost of putting his own mother in danger.

When the remaining Wolves had blitz attacked them, they'd killed Spencer right away. Rick would have told him not to trust anyone who would carve letters into their own foreheads, but whatever Spencer had promised them, he'd gotten his own mother killed next. Deanna was already laid out when the commotion had drawn people outside.

And then the Alexandrians cornered the Wolves who hadn't fled over the wall and into the woods. A Wolf laughed at the dead bodies in the street. Still, that wasn't enough to leave Rick gasping in anger over their deaths. Rick liked Deanna, but he also understood that she, like most of the Alexandrians, wasn't built to survive in their world. She was a politician and diplomat who had not transferred that ability of manipulation like all the great talkers had done in this world. They'd had to stop being the people who brought folks to the table, and instead be the people who helped bend your will to theirs. It was narcissistic and relied on the worst of humanity, but most of humanity was changed from who they had been before. Survivors by their very nature weren't the kindest of people. The most one could hope for in this world was not bargaining off too much of your humanity.

No, it wasn't until the Wolf had laughed and called Judith and Carl out by name; not until he'd called Michonne by name that Rick had found his axe hacking away while his gun aimed at the crowd if they threatened to stop him.

Rick loved Morgan like a brother, but his "all lives are precious" rhetoric had chafed at Rick's bones when it came to Rick protecting his family. Rick didn't know what was going on with Morgan and Michonne, but he couldn't abide by anyone who wouldn't kill for her if she were in danger. Michonne and Rick killed for each other dozens of times and he wasn't about to stop with proven murderers in his midst. So, Morgan had joined those bodies in the street when he tried to intervene while Rick did his damage and protected his family.

"I'm sorry," he said. He stopped scrubbing and hung his head.

They both knew this wasn't about what had occurred. Michonne was like him. When things needed to be done, when the family needed protecting, she was willing to kill on the spot. She'd done it with Ron. She'd done it with the Governor. She would do it again in a heartbeat.

He looked up in time to see her shuffling toward an old bucket that matched the one he sat on. She flipped it over and sat beside him. A quick shrug and her katana perched against the wooden railing.

"I know," she repeated.

They sat in silence for a moment. His coat sunk to the bottom of the chilled tub.

She picked at a piece of lint on her jeans, but stared straight ahead. "I know how you feel, Rick. I wasn't always okay. I wasn't okay when we met. I had just lost my son right before I met Andrea."

Rick managed to keep his body still, but his heart hitched with the words. He was smart enough to know there was somebody important she lost. No one had gone through this world without losing someone they loved, but he had always hoped it wasn't a child. Judith wasn't even his and he felt like his world shook when she was missing.

She paused. When she did speak, he could hear the despair in her voice. "I can't tell you what that loss did to me. How it made me feel. How it ruined me. I thought I would be broken forever. Then I met Andrea, and Maggie and you and Carl and it changed me. "

She reached over and grabbed his damp hand, making sure to avoid his sore knuckles. "I still can't talk about him much, but I understand, Rick. I understand."

He had so many questions. He wondered what he looked like. Wondered if he shared Michonne's smile and laugh. Did he have her eyes and inherent sense of rightness? Whatever he had gotten from his father, Rick could only think that was enhanced by whatever qualities he'd inherited from his mother.

He could hear the pain in her voice and he knew she was flashing to Carl tumbling to the dirt as the shot pierced his eye. He then realized just how callous he had been. He thought he was shutting her out to minimize her pain, to bear his cross alone, but it had actually caused the pain to bury deep under the surface of her skin and explode, radiating through her spirit and body. He couldn't imagine reliving the death of his son through another loved one's injury and not having his best friend to talk to. The sleepless nights that must have plagued her. Shit. He'd squandered his opportunities. He hoped this wasn't the last he would hear of her precious child, the last time she would share this part of her soul with him.

Rick let the quiet envelop them like a blanket. A different kind of tension settled over him.

There was an unspoken topic they hadn't addressed and Rick knew it was time to face it head on. He clasped her hand and tugged until she looked at him. "I didn't let her in. I know it looks like I did, but I didn't. I lied to myself. I thought it was going to be like making things right with Lori. It wasn't fair to Jessie and it wasn't fair to you, but that's how it was. I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you like you've been for me.

"And I know you understand because you always understand. I guess that scared me too. No one has ever truly gotten me."

Throughout his life Rick was the oddball, the goody two shoes who folks found bewildering. He was a man straight out of the 1950s, but with none of the condescending bullshit men usually had for women of that era. Or at least he thought. Clearly he had fallen somewhere and it had fucked up a lot of people, including Michonne. Including him.

"I'm not good without you," he said.

"You're fine without me, Rick."

"I'm not, Michonne." She gave him an incredulous look. "No, listen. Can I survive without you? Yes. I've discovered I can survive without a lot of things, but I can't truly live." He brought her hand to his mouth and gave her it a quick peck. "I want my friend back. I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

She eyed him. "Might not help trying to get on my good side by knocking out my boyfriend," she laughed.

He growled and turned away from her. A spike of jealousy stabbed his gut so hard he nearly doubled over with the pain. Instead, he clenched his sore fingers.

She raised one of her hands to his face and gently shifted him back to her. "I'm teasing, but this is on my terms, Rick, so don't be mad with me if this doesn't happen, if we don't happen. You owe me this."

He inhaled before nodding in agreement. He owed her more than he could ever repay her. The fact that she seemed open to starting over was a miracle. They both would need to have a little give and take and right now she was giving him this second chance so he would take what he could get and hope for more.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for hanging with me. I'm looking at my projections and I think we have two more chapters here. This _is_ a Richonne fic so no worries.


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